Medias of Destruction

I am living in a world controlled by corporations and industry, nothing is quite clear, nothing is okay. The choices that have been made by our forefathers are the spark of our demise. I'm left in this world to make what little difference I can, something I wish I could so do, but my one voice is powerless to the hypocrisy of our leaders. So I am a boy, a young child, lost in the smog and ashes of confusion and pain.

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2. Under-Fire

Issac had grown, under the watchful eyes of foster care with Rubee, and with his growth came height that such things brig. He'd moved from London to the US after the finding of his parents, the whole decision was mapped out by an institute, Issac had found great success in academics and sports, but greatly inept at social skills due to trauma at a very young age. In this though found great talent in music especially that of piano and vocals, he'd been playing for a while and had a contract with a local producer. But also had a great deal of time he had to spend in school, which was not something he enjoyed at all. Today was a normal Wednesday for him, a lonely walk through the school halls, catching glimpses of a few cute girls and rapid texts from his sister on his phone-like device. The halls were a drab grey coloured, uniforms were mandatory and the students were always watched and processed through a series of scanners and cameras. Any displays of inappropriate behaviour would result in immediate suspension and grade point average drop as well as (depending on the severity of the action) something awful called the lock up. Issac had only heard things about the lock up, him being as dutiful as he was and always afraid of punishment of any kind from a very young age

Issac went to his classroom and sat at his stool, the glass-top desk lit up, a slight hum of life about it, and a light blue series of icons and lines appeared on the desk. The room was grey, and drab much like the halls, no lighting besides the dull yellow ceiling lights and the desks which provided limited and eye-irritating illumination. The screen flashed for him to insert his card, so Issac reached into his pocket and slid his card into a slot on the side of the desk, it responded, his card was released and he was allowed entry into the "computer". 

"Psst, Issac," a female voice whispered behind him.

He turned slowly with little enthusiasm, "What do you want Mirabelle?

There was a girl, and image of adolescence at its finest, she had her same silly but bored look on her face as always, her green eyes always focused elsewhere than actual lessons, her red hair fell neatly and straight to the appropriated length of a foot and a quarter. She wore her makeup like a mask to blemishes and imperfections, it matched her already pale and translucent skin, but it fit her. In Issac's book she was about the most attractive girl he could maintain any vocal contact with besides his sister, but that was a completely different situation. She looked at him with adoration, but Issac knew nothing of it, "So, did you do the models?"

"Not yet, I'm thinking of doing them tonight, it's hard to decide which one is easier," Issac commented with seriousness.

Mirabelle immediately cracked up as if there were some hilarious joke just told to her, "You set that up on yourself so perfectly."

Issac raised one eyebrow, a habit he'd learned from his missing older brother, "I what?"

"Never mind Issac, you're so ignorant sometimes, you know that? Even for a smart kid, things get past you," Mirabelle responded, her smile slowly fading from her face.

Issac took some offense to this but he couldn't really deny it, he did frequently let things get by him, "You wanna hear the new song I came up with last night?"

Mirabelle's eyes lit up, she loved his work and took ever chance to experience his vision, "What do you think?"

Issac noted the sarcasm in her voice, sighed slightly and tapped an icon on the screen, a folder opened up, he found the file and selected it. Upon selection a beat came, light and slow, a soothing pitch.

Mirabelle smiled in admiration and Issac beamed at her appreciation. Then the teacher walked in, glaring in their general direction as a sign of Shut it off

Issac obliged and looked straight at the teacher, Issac's posture was straight and rigid, militant. 

The class went on for a few hours, the teacher lectured, the class of course did as adolescents did and stared off, and daydreamed, but being sure to keep their minds in a state of appropriate thought so they didn't have to suffer the consequences. It was at the very least an uneventful day, too much normality for any true appreciation to come of it.

At the end of the day Issac stalked off to his favourite corner of the building, the one near the lounge next to the vending machines that dispensed hot chocolate during the winter and lemonade during the summer. And in that corner he would pull out his notebook and write, he would draw, he would use all the manners of creativity that he was unable to throughout the moderately dis-interesting class periods. It was in that corner, wedged behind the vending machine that he got a message from his sister that read, I need you right now.

Issac knew something was wrong, his sister never sent him a text in full English, always in fractured text speech, not to mention his sister was a relatively independent person with no need for his help. Immediately he stowed his notebooks and pencils into his shoulder bag and ran towards the entrance of the building. While it was the end of the day, the hallways were surprisingly empty which was unusual. As Issac approached the entrance he noticed a crowd gathered there, disproportionately large considering how many of them should have been at their programs, but none of the school officers seemed to care, whatever was there warranted their attention. 

"What's going on?" Issac asked to the nearest student, a girl he didn't recognize.

She looked at him with eyes full of fear, dead eyes, "You'll have to see for yourself."

Issac's heart leaped, "What do you mean?"

She turned her back to him and said, "You'll see."

Issac began pushing his way through the crowd hearing murmurings of the name Rubee, occasionally catching his name in the mix. 

One, Two, Three, Four, Five....

It went on in his head, memories flooded back, mangled images and twisted faces.

Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten....

His mind was a blur, nothing made sense, the numbers were a screaming noise of numbers counting from one. He wasn't hiding though, it didn't make sense.

Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen...

Issac kept pushing his way through the clusters of bodies with complete silence, but in his head something was coming for him.

Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty...

First his parents and now him, what a befitting end. He saw the clearing in the crowd ahead of him, he strained his eyes as he continued pushing forwards. 

Twenty-one, Twenty-two, Twenty-three, Twenty-four, Twenty-five....

Issac saw before him something gone, long dead but somehow unnoticed by anyone. The flesh was decayed and the features remarkably unrecognizable. The skin was torn over the rib cage showing bare bones, the fingers were sewn together, the eyes were stapled shut, there were cuts and lines of torment riddled across the cadaver, but the face was serene if one could call it that. There was no sign of this person feeling any of this pain, none of it, as if they were dead before the obvious carnage ensued.Issac noticed something, something from his childhood, he thought he'd never see it again; it was his family crest engraved upon a token on a necklace, the very same necklace his brother always wore. His entire body shuddered, nausea kicked in, his face twisted into a shape of unpleasant, grotesque realization. He'd always hated his eldest sibling for never being there, Issac had even the audacity to blame his older brother for his parents' deaths. In that moment Issac felt a tear roll down his face as his gut jerked in guilt, in pain, in saturated rage. And he then uttered one word, "Sorry..."

Off beyond the lobby to the cement jungle-street he heard his sister in the distance call out, "Issac! Isaac!"

And somewhere in the world, someone sat satisfied at the deed of murder, at the prospect of terrorizing, and in the safe arms of the unknown...

(After this moment I reached a state of uncertainty, I was ready at all moments to die, that in this commotion I would be next; It's my job now though, to find the culprit and bring justice to this termination of my family... The date was April 19th, 2077  and I was no longer a little boy...)

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